The Death of Eve Reconsidered
Across the street near the park, we hear a smack
right where deer often pass into the arboretum
we see a dented car speeding away from the scene
a pastoral green dotted by towering trees suddenly
disrupted by a staggering doe a brown bruise
hitching into the park hip crushed leg dragging.
Her fawn’s white chevrons heaving in her wake.
We watch enchanted as he stoops to nuzzle
where he once butted her flank tongued a nipple.
He may remember following her from his hideaway
recall sunlight slanting the pavement the treetops;
he’ll replay the screech, thud whump and
the elms, sighing we know how the story ends.
But, No! In the Nature Center one hip bulging
she lives on raising the fawn next year, another.